


Soos and Stan's Excellent Convention Adventure

by mitchan



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Cameos, Comic: Gravity Falls: Lost Legends, Gen, Spoilers - Gravity Falls: Lost Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23206417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitchan/pseuds/mitchan
Summary: Soos and Stan go to Comic-c- I mean, the "Great West Coast Comics Convention". There's absolutely no way something will go wrong.
Relationships: Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Stan Pines
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Soos and Stan's Excellent Convention Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> This was my piece for the "Epilogue: A Lost Legends fanzine". I worked for the story "Comix-Up". Posting today to celebrate that I finally got my physical copy of the fanzine! (I love it so much). 
> 
> In my imagination, this takes place about a year after Weirdmaggedon.
> 
> I hope you like it!

“SURPRISE, MR. PINES!” Soos exclaimed as he finally removed the blindfold from Stan’s head.

“AGH! WHAT’S THIS?” Stan screamed, recoiling from the sudden assault on his senses- a swarm of bright colors and movement from all sides, the stench of sweat slow-cooked for hours in enclosed spaces, and the mingled sound of hundreds of excited conversations above the thrum of cheery pop music.

“None other than the Mecca of comics fans everywhere - the final and greatest destination of our Awesome Mr. Mystery Road Trip - the Great West Coast COMICS CONVENTION!” said Soos, gesturing grandly with his arms.

“No way! I thought we were going to trash some more Californian tourist traps, not go to- to some kind of nerd gathering!” Stan said, side-eying a group of people dressed as characters from Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons.

“Aw, Mr. Pines! This has been my dream since I was, like, twelve! And I thought, since you confessed your love for comics-

“I did NOT-

“-you’d enjoy this too! Also, the comic I made? I’d really like to show it to some people from the business, see what they think! I even brought some copies of _Li’l Stanley_ to-

“Give me those!” said Stan, panicked, making a grab for them, but Soos moved back a step.

“Just for a few hours, Mr. Pines! Please? Pleeease?” he begged, knowing full well Stan was immune to his puppy face. So he played his trump card: “It’s my birthday! And this is the best present I could ever ask for!”

Stan relented. He sighed in aggravation. “OK, fine. But,” he warned, “if I even catch a glimpse of Stan Lee, I’m outta here!”

“Haha, yeah, okay,” said Soos, looking very shifty. Stan narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but before he could press the point, Soos had him enveloped in a hug.

“This is gonna be so great, dood! Look! It’s Captain Nazi-Puncher and the Awesome Arachno-Dude! Let’s go take a picture with them!”

***

“Travelling made me too soft,” Stan was grumbling less than an hour later, already regretting his decision.

The convention center was enormous, and even though he wasn’t as skittish as Ford among crowds and large spaces, he still felt his age as he wandered through groups of the most bizarre people he’d seen outside of a Woodstick concert. Many wore costumes as if this were a nerdy Summerween party- some characters he recognised from classic comics, others rang a bell from movies Mabel and Dipper made him watch, and some must surely be made up:

“What’s that guy with yellow horns wearing nothing but yellow paint supposed to be?” Stan asked, grimacing at the sight.

Soos laughed. “Oh, it’s only the cutest character in a video game turned cartoon turned movie turned video game! They’re these cute animals you catch and force to fight each other and…”

Stan tuned him out after that. Once inside the main area, a dizzying labyrinth of stands, Soos ran to inspect life-sized plastic figures in display cases, while Stan’s attention was caught by the price tags of the merchandise.

“Fifty bucks for a Nazi-Puncher T-shirt? What a rip-off!” he said admiringly.

“Hey, Mr. Pines, I’m uh, I’m kinda hungry, so I’ll just go buy a hot dog from the cafeteria and come back… I might be gone a while… there’s lines everywhere, haha! I’ll be back, I promise!” Soos said, while Stan was busy examining pixel art keychains that must have cost a pittance to make, provided one had enough cheap labor to make them.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, his businessman’s mind making cost-profit calculations.

After a while, he realized he’d seen bobbleheads, costumes, figures, posters, baseball caps, even snow globes, but not a single comic.

“Isn’t this supposed to be a comics convention? Where are the comics?” he turned around to ask Soos. Who was nowhere to be seen.

***

“Then the twin Luchadores, Estrella Fugaz and El Pino,” Soos pointed to the drawing of two teenagers in matching wrestler outfits with capes and masks, pink and dark blue respectively, “discover that their wise old mentor, El Stanto, has been imprisoned in the Pyramid Fortress of Doom! They set out to rescue him with the help of Poncho Hat,” he showed the dramatic entrance of a round-bellied figure clad in a cowboy hat and a dark poncho.

“And also Lumberjack Moon, ax-throwing evil-fighter by moonlight, regular lumberjack girl by daylight! When they finally rescue El Stanto, he reveals his deepest, darkest secret: El Triangulo’s most dangerous minion, Book Demon, is his own twin brother, brainwashed by the psychic powers of El Triangulo!” he pointed at a page depicting the menacing figures of a red triangle with a large moustache and mariachi hat, and a masked minion with a six-fingered handprint on his bare chest.

“They must figure out a way to free Book Demon from the evil influence and face their last battle in the lucha libre ring: a battle for the fate of the universe!” Soos finished, vibrating with excitement, as he opened his comic to the last pages: a two-page epic fight traced from a superhero comic.

The people around him in the line clapped politely. Soos heard clapping from the signing booth, and he turned around, heart hammering in his chest. Was that-

“Oh. You’re not Stan Lee,” Soos blurted out.

The young man in a goatee and plaid shirt frowned from the booth.

“I wish! I’m-”

“Wait! So where is the line for the Stan Lee autographs?” Soos asked, looking around desperately.

“Right there,” the man pointed to what Soos had first thought were five different lines, and could now see was a single long line stretching beyond the autograph area.

“I think some of them have been in line for a week,” a woman commented behind him.

“I will get Stan Lee’s autograph before I die of hunger!” they heard a hollow-eyed fan in the closest line muttering as he shivered. “Unless these orange snakes get to me first!” he added in the middle of hallucinogenic madness.

Soos felt his hopes crash to the floor and shatter. “There’s no way I’ll get to show Stan Lee my comic!” he wailed in despair.

“Do you want my autograph or not?” said the man in the booth, exasperated.

***

Stan paced the hallway, scratching his head. He vaguely recalled Soos saying something before he disappeared - what, he had no idea. He could report Soos as a missing child through the PA system. It had worked once at a supermarket. But where would he go for that?

“Where’s that stupid camera-phone when I need it?” Stan complained. Not that he could have made a call with the ceramic brick people called “a phone” nowadays in any case- he’d left it in the car for a reason.

“Agh!” As he turned a corner, he found himself staring directly at Stan Lee: a huge poster advertising how he would be giving autographs at extremely specific times during the convention. Stan eyed the poster with trepidation. And then he saw the prices.

“Huh,” he said.

***

Soos took another bite of the bland hot dog, but not even the taste of lukewarm, half-congealed grease could cheer him up.

The truth was, right next to the wall in his childhood bedroom covered with mementos of Stan Pines (off-center photos of him giving tours, the written instructions for the first attraction he’d showed him how to make, a torn-off piece of a failed werewolf costume full of chest hair), there was a smaller shrine full of legendary comic pages, photos taken from across a conference hall, and magazine interviews of Stan Lee, his comic-book idol.

It seemed he was fated to never meet him.

“It’s impossible!” a voice broke through Soos’ glum musings. He looked up to watch a group of fans walk hurriedly past him, muttering in low voices.

“Look, Greg took a photo! And that’s his signature, all right!”

“The photo’s all dark and blurry! And that signature looks weird to me…”

“Listen, don’t you think it’s worth taking a look? If it’s really him-

“But how could Stan Lee be giving autographs for half-price at the back of the center, under the escalator? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Shhh! You want everyone to hear? Let’s go before word gets around!”

Soos’ eyes blazed with the fire of a new mission. Slowly, he turned his cap backwards and stood up.

“I know a faster way,” he muttered.

***

A part of him knew he didn’t need to do it. Somehow, after all these years, he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted. He no longer was the desperate twenty-something who’d try any scheme on the off-chance he’d get rich from it.

Another part of him looked at the smug face on the poster and thought: “you don’t think I can pull it off? Just you wait.”

He had Old Man Powers. With large sunglasses, a fake moustache, hair slicked back and a suit jacket, plus an improvised booth he’d borrowed from distracted sellers, he set up his prices in black marker and waited for somes rubes to take the bait.

And take it they did. They must be really desperate, he mused, as he watched with equal parts glee and foreboding as the line of people under the escalator grew and grew, excited mutterings and people craning their necks to get a glimpse of the figure selling “Stan Lee” autographs in the shadows.

A sketchy guy with his face covered by a handkerchief leant closer as he was signing with a flourish.

“For an extra price… will you… sign in your own blood?” he whispered, brandishing a needle.

“What? Ew! No way!” he answered immediately. Then: “Wait, how much of an extra are we talkin’ about?”

He was distracted by haggling, so he didn’t notice when the crowd went eerily quiet, and started parting like the Red Sea.

“Stan Pines… you’ve gotten old,” said a clear, smug voice.

Stan froze to the spot. The sketchy guy practically vanished into thin air, and he saw in front of him a group of burly security guards standing aside as a stooped old man in tinted glasses stepped forward. He was grinning dangerously.

Affecting nonchalance, as if he hadn’t gotten a black eye the last time they’d seen each other, Stan stood up and faced Stan Lee.

“Look who’s talking. Were you ever young?” he replied.

Stan Lee stopped smiling. He raised his cane threateningly.

“I told you to never come back to a convention, didn’t I? And now, thirty years later, I find you here, scamming the fans. I knew it was you as soon as I heard the rumors.”

Stan puffed up his chest and grinned. “Oh yeah? What’re ya gonna do? Punch me again? No offense, your hand would break,” he said.

“You underestimate me,” Stan Lee grinned. “I just might punch you to prove it,” and he snapped his fingers with the flair of a mafia boss, and two of the security guards advanced on him.

“Wait, no, please, don’t hurt my Dad, I mean my ex-boss father figure!” Soos screamed and barrelled out from the crowd, putting himself, arms raised, between Stan and the security guards.

And then he took out his comic and held it out to Stan Lee, like an offering to appease a god.

“And also STAN LEE YOU’RE MY IDOL AND SECOND-FAVORITE STANLEY AND PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TAKE A LOOK AT MY COMIC!”

Stan Lee raised a questioning eyebrow as he gingerly took Soos’ comic. Stan recognized an escape opportunity when he saw one.

Smashing down a pair of smoke bombs, he grabbed Soos’ arm and pulled him past Stan Lee and the guards and out of the convention center to safety, sticking a Mystery Shack sticker on the shoulder of Stan Lee’s jacket as he screamed: “Never mess with the Pines!”

***

As he drove them back north, Soos kept disturbingly quiet. He didn’t even try to put on one of his irritatingly catchy hip-hop tunes to liven up the drive. Stan fidgeted in the passenger seat.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I wanted his autograph, too,” he confessed.

“What?” Soos turned to look at him.

“That time we fought. I just wanted to meet him, have him sign a comic for me. Then it all went to hell. Old man got angry because he found out I’d shoplifted a couple of comics-”

“A couple?”

“Well, ten or so, give or take. I got defensive. Might’ve said a few things about how the Fantabulous Four were the most boring superhero team in history, he said there could only be one Stanley in the comics world, some punches were thrown…”

“You never got the autograph?” Soos asked.

“Nope,” Stan answered.

***

There was a large envelope waiting for them when they finally got back home to Gravity Falls.

“It’s from California,” Dipper pointed out.

“And it’s addressed to ‘Stan Pines’ Adopted Son’”, Mabel said, frowning.

“Oh my God,” said Soos, clutching at Stan’s arm. “Could it be…? I think I’m gonna faint. Should I open it? Let me open it. Or no, I don’t think I can. Doods, open it for me.”

“It might be a restraining order,” Stan commented, eying the envelope suspiciously.

Mabel opened it carefully and Soos’ comic came tumbling out onto the table.

Soos picked it up with trembling hands. It was untouched, save for a slip of paper at the last page.

It read: “Art needs improvement. Excellent story, very creative. Very human drama at the heart of it. Interesting characters. Keep up the good work! Excelsior. _Stan Lee_.”

There were tears in his eyes when Soos finally looked up from the note.

“I got his autograph,” he whispered, before fainting.

“Look! There’s something else in here,” said Dipper, shaking out the envelope. A copy of _Li’l Stanley_ , that had been hidden between the folds of Soos’ bigger comic, fell out.

Scribbled over the cover was a quick scrawl: “Pines, this is horrible. Please burn it immediately. _Stan Lee_.”

“Huh. I got an autograph, too,” Stan said, holding his comics in his hands.

“So cool,” muttered Soos, from the floor.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> l kdyh qhyhu hyhu vkrsoliwhg frplfv dw d frplfv frqyhqwlrq.


End file.
